


Office Space

by Zhie



Series: Eagle's Ridge University [2]
Category: The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Professors, M/M, Professors, University
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-28
Updated: 2018-04-28
Packaged: 2019-04-29 05:07:36
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,042
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14465676
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zhie/pseuds/Zhie
Summary: Procedural changes have Erestor demanding answers from his Associate Dean.  Fingon avoids work on the weekends.





	Office Space

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Ulan](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ulan/gifts), [AndiiErestor](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AndiiErestor/gifts), [Dalandel](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dalandel/gifts).



“I just received the memo.” The chill from Erestor’s gaze was icier than the breeze that blew into Fingon’s house. “How dare you send that out at quarter to five on a Friday!”

Fingon, dressed in his Saturday best of jogging pants and a tank top, scratched his head. His hair, pulled back from his face and out of the usual neat braids that still seemed to some to issue him a lack of credibility in the management role he had, pushed the door open a little wider and stepped back inside. “Can I make you something? I was just about to have breakfast.”

“It is 11:53,” pointed out Erestor as he entered and shut the door behind him. The dog, a rambunctious husky, ran up to tag his leg and then ran back to the stuffed green elephant he had been gnawing on. 

“I know. I went for a run, stopped at the gym, picked up eggs, and walked back. And… I have no idea why I am justifying this to you,” continued Fingon as he pulled a skillet from the cupboard. “Breakfast or no?”

“I already ate, and could not possibly be hungry right now if I tried.” Erestor pulled out his tablet from a messenger bag slung over his shoulder. Despite it being the weekend, his attire was business casual -- khaki pants, shirt tucked in, and even a tie. “What I want to know is why the instructional chairs were not brought into this meeting you refer to, and why this is even an issue. Offices are plentiful on the campus -- there is no need to make any of us sacrifice our privacy to reduce the number of spaces inhabited by faculty!”

“There is no reduction in those spaces,” Fingon clarified as he dropped a large sausage into the skillet to sizzle and found a bowl to crack eggs into. “It was brought to the attention of the Chancellor’s Council that adjunct and associate professors are required to meet students in the common areas, and that it would be helpful if they had their own spaces on campus. This lead to a suggestion that all regular faculty have ample office space, and that those offices have capacity for multiple desks. The decision was made to pilot a program of office sharing.”

“Part time professors should not have permanency on campus -- it is a waste of space!” Erestor scrolled through the threaded emails. “You should see the outrage from the English department, and I will not even read to you what Dr. Williamson wrote about all this.”

“I will read them Monday,” said Fingon as he sliced two thick pieces of bread from an artisan loaf and dropped them into the toaster. “when tempers have cooled and everyone has received their reassignments.”

Erestor looked up from his tablet. “You already know who is paired with whom.” He narrowed his eyes. “There are over seventy tenured faculty members in this pilot group. You knew all about this when we had breakfast yesterday,” he accused. “You already have access to the list.” When Fingon only continued to guiltily make breakfast, Erestor prodded him. “Am I to relocate? And who did you place me with? It had best not be Geraldine. I will go to the Vice Chancellor if you placed me with Geraldine.”

“It is not Geraldine.” Fingon rolled his eyes and retrieved a bag of cut brussel sprouts from the fridge. “You will be staying in your office -- but someone will be--”

“It is *him*,” interrupted Erestor. “That was why you acted so oddly yesterday when he came to sit with us. ‘He does not seem so bad’. Why would you say that otherwise?”

Fingon sighed in defeat. “He seems nice. Would you rather share with Geraldine?” Erestor glared mightily. “I thought not. Look, it might be a nice change for everyone.”

“This was not your idea, because you always run those by me first,” said Erestor. “So where did this come from? The Chancellor? Vice Chancellor?” When neither of these elicited a reaction from Fingon, Erestor clicked his tongue and shook his head. “This was your brother’s idea.”

“Of course it was his damned idea.” Fingon cracked two eggs into a bowl and stirred them. “I understand what it is like to be a Professor; he does not. He gets these dumbass ideas, and the Chancellor just fawns all over them. I swear that no one would even listen to him if it were not for the accident.”

Erestor slid the tablet back into his bag. “How long has it been since he lost his wife?”

“Three years in July.” Fingon took a deep breath, and paused a moment at the remembrance of his sister-in-law. “It has to be hard for him, a single parent, and tasked now with the custody of our nephew.”

“I still cannot understand why your sister would place that burden on him, when you and Mae could have offered Maeglin a loving home.”

Fingon shrugged as he pushed the sausage and sprouts around in the skillet to keep them from being burned. “She and Turgon were always closer to each other than they ever were to me. Besides, I have my own to take care of.”

“True. How is Gil doing?” asked Erestor.

“Going into his junior year next year. I keep being reminded that although I only technically owe two more years of child support, I am expected to continue to contribute with college expenses. I was a smart-ass and told her I should only have to contribute the percentage equal to the amount of time she allows me to see him, and I sincerely hope she did not share that with Gil. I was also told that I was not allowed to come to any of the university visits he has lined up for the summer, for fear I will attempt to sway Gil’s opinion.”

“Does she think you will push him to come to Eagle’s Ridge?” asked Erestor.

The sausages and sprouts were removed from the skillet and the eggs sloshed in. “Of course I would push for that -- children of alumni qualify for so many scholarship opportunities it is insane, and his tuition would be 70% reduced because I work there. He could go all the way through a doctoral program without financial debt. No loans, no promissory notes -- he could graduate and have the freedom to move anywhere.”

“Just make sure he does something to boost his credit scores. Have him get some sort of a low interest credit card to use when he buys his books, and then make sure he pays it off right away.”

“Always and ever most practical Erestor,” remarked Fingon as he plated his food. “Are you sure you do not want anything?”

“Coffee,” Erestor conceded as Fingon poured a cup for himself. “Is Mae out today?”

“Nope, just sleeping in.” Fingon added sugar and handed the first mug to Erestor before retrieving a second for himself. “He worked second shift all week and pulled a double yesterday. He has another double on Sunday.”

“Sunday work is blasphemous,” opined Erestor. “He should be able to stay home with you.”

“Tell that to his father,” grumbled Fingon. He carried his food and mug out to the enclosed front porch where the sunlight was streaming in. A space heater kept the room comfortable despite it being early spring. “I did not intend to deceive you about the office moves, Erestor, but this was all kept strictly confidential. I was blindsided by it as much as you were -- the meeting on Tuesday was scheduled as Retention and Registration Committee, and it was then and there that Turgon presented his plan.”

“How does this have anything to do with Retention and Registration?” Erestor wondered as he took up residence on the sofa the dog was also occupying.

“This is just one of those ‘Turgon Tactics’. He shows up with a plan and dives into it, and no one stops him. The Chancellor thought it was just brilliant, and Turgon said he could have it up and running by the end of the week. I argued what I could. Turgon’s initial plan had four instructors per office.”

“Four?! The office only has space for two desks -- what were we to do, sit upon one another’s lap? I--ah--this is absurd! Four instructors -- I would have resigned! He meant to take the conference rooms within each office suite and put desks there, I wager.”

“Indeed. I was able to convince the Chancellor that we need to retain those rooms for meetings with study groups and other faculty. I know it seems as if I folded on this, but trust me, I tried my best,” said Fingon.

“I understand.” Erestor place his messenger bag on the floor and then sipped his coffee. “In those circumstances, people tend to have a certain perception, and--”

“Stop,” cut in Fingon. “I know where this is going.”

Erestor scratched the dog behind the ears and then continued with, “If you would just put on an actual suit--”

“Oh, not this again…”

“--and keep your sleeves rolled down so no one sees that tattoo--”

“No one ever does, Erestor…”

“--and just cut your hair, everyone would take you far more seriously.”

Fingon spread blackberry jam on his toast and ate a few bites before he spoke again. “Are you done?”

Erestor set the mug down and scrutinized his friend while continuing to pet the dog. “Your piercings are noticable. You are forty-one, Fingon. No man over forty has any reason to have long hair and pierced ears.”

“There are a lot of people in the music industry who do,” shot back Fingon.

“Even Ulrich and Hetfield cut their hair,” Erestor said smugly.

“Are you really bringing Metallica into this?” Fingon stabbed at his eggs. “Lars still has pierced nipples -- at least… well, in the videos he still does, and Trujillo has longer hair than I do, and he has to be over forty.”

“Robert Trujillo is the best bass player currently alive and he can do whatever he wants,” answered Erestor.

“Agree to disagree. Both Geddy Lee and Sting are far superior to Trujillo. And there you have another one -- Geddy Lee has long hair and he has to be in his 60s!”

“Well, then, obviously you should have been a bass player instead of a harpist,” Erestor countered.

Finished with breakfast, the silverware was placed on the plate, and the cat jumped up from some unknown place to lick it all clean. “I doubt the decision by the Chancellor has anything to do with the length of my hair or any other part of my appearance,” said Fingon. “Turgon is the perfect one -- he can do no wrong. He marries his school sweetheart, joins the peace corps, has a beautiful daughter, gets through grad school before I finish, completes his doctoral work, buys a house before I do, pays it off with his investments, and all the rest. I… do a lot of stupid things and marry my half-cousin despite the protests of half the family.”

“You turned out alright,” said Erestor, guilt crossing his face for bringing the conversation to this point. 

“I am sorry you had to find out about the offices this way. I thought the announcement was to be sent on Monday,” Fingon said. “When people were matched up, it was done by lottery. Then we all negotiated on who would move and who would stay of each pair. Your office is by the library, and you work with a lot of grad students. I felt you needed to stay put. Glorfindel had an office right next to the greenhouse. It was convenient for him, but it is rather small, and unsuitable for your work, and so he will be getting a letter and an email telling him he is to relocate at the end of the semester.”

“Ah... so this does not go into effect immediately.”

“No. You have another two months of solitude.”

Erestor sipped from the mug thoughtfully. “Another two months to convince the Chancellor this is a bad idea.”

“Or that,” said Fingon. “And, it could be worse.”

“Who got Geraldine?” wondered Erestor.

Fingon smirked. “Salgant.”


End file.
